Chapter Sixteen
Jet
The door clicks behind me, the soft sound loud in the quiet room that is mine.
My hands shake as I press my palm against the cool wooden door, steadying myself.
My heart won’t stop pounding, a wild drumbeat in my chest. Tonight felt like chaos.
The women who’ve been around the MC for a while were all ready with bandages and charts on the members of the MC who left.
Devil paced almost nonstop, worry etched into her features.
And the only person I was worried about was Justice. It feels like I’ve gone from one fire to another. From one MC to another. When he walked in tonight, I almost cried. He’s handsome, strong and I’m damaged, broken and not even sure if I can let myself be with a man again.
I want to shut it all out. The noise. The faces. The memories clawing up from where I buried them.
A knock sounds — two short raps, firm, controlled.
I freeze. Justice?
For a second, I think about pretending I’m asleep. But then I hear his voice, low and rough through the door.
“Jet, open up.”
Swallowing hard, I twist the knob. The door creaks open, and there he is, broad shoulders and tired eyes. My chest tightens.
He steps inside, just one boot past the threshold. “You okay?”
The words are simple, and I could tell him how I’m feeling but I’m not sure I can. Nobody ever asks me that and means it.
“I’m fine.” My voice is too sharp, too fast. A lie.
His gaze flicks to my trembling hands. “You don’t look fine.”
“I said I’m fine.”
He doesn’t move closer, just watches me with that steady calm that makes me want to scream and cry at the same time.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The air between us is thick with electricity.
Then Justice takes another step in. “You feel like you shouldn’t be alone.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I back up a few steps. “I’m not some fragile thing you need to fix.”
“I know,” he says softly. “But you are someone I care about.”
The words sink in, and I feel something twist inside me. I hate it. I need it. I don’t even know which more.
Justice closes the door and sits on the edge of my bed, careful, slow. As though he can sense if he moves too fast, I’ll bolt. He doesn’t reach for me, only rests his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “I ain’t good at this… saying what I feel.”
I snort, the sound half laugh, half choke. “You? Mr. Broody, the strong, silent type? I never would’ve guessed.”
His mouth twitches, almost a smile. “You think you’re funny, huh?”
“Sometimes.”
He looks up at me then, and I forget how to breathe. This kind of attention burns. It strips me bare, leaving nowhere to hide.
“Come here,” he says quietly. Not an order. An invitation.
My feet move before my brain catches up. I stop a few inches away. Close enough to smell his cologne.
He lifts a hand, slow as hell, and brushes it down my arm. The lightest touch. My stomach flips.
“You’ve got nothin’ to hide, Jet.”
He doesn’t know. He hasn’t seen the scars, both physical and emotional.
My breath hitches, and I turn my face away. “Don’t.”
“Hey,” he murmurs, fingers hovering near my hand. “You tell me to stop, I stop. Every damn time.”
That right there — the way he says it — hits harder than any kiss ever could.
I look down at him, searching for the lie, the manipulation I’m used to. There isn’t one. Just him. Just truth.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper.
“Neither do I,” he admits. “But we can figure it out.”
He leans in then, slow, and patient, giving me time to back away. I don’t. Justice wraps his arms around me and inhales. The flips in my stomach turn into acrobatics as I run my fingers through his hair.
Carefully, Justice pushes me back and stands. I’m so close to him that we are touching, his lips brush mine, feather-soft. Barely there. Then again, a little firmer.
It’s not rough or hungry. It’s careful.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
No man has ever kissed me like I mattered.
I fist my hands in his T-shirt, his warmth seeps into me, steadying the tremble in my bones.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “You’re safe with me, Jet.”
For a heartbeat, I almost believe him.
Then my past creeps in, the hands that didn’t ask, the voices that didn’t listen. The bruises that took weeks to fade.
Stepping back, I hug myself. “You should go.”
Justice studies me for a long time. Then he nods once, and moves toward the door. “Yeah. But if you need me… you knock. Doesn’t matter the hour.”
Just before he leaves, he glances back. “I ain’t like them, Jet. You’ll see that one day.”
The door closes behind him, soft and final.
I sink onto the bed, touching my lips, still tasting him there.
And for the first time in a long damn while, I let myself hope.